


Decon Daze

by Britpacker



Series: Making It Real [4]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, PWP, Risk-taking, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3850930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip gets an answer to one of life’s great mysteries.  Does a blush turn purple in Decon?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decon Daze

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't do a series like this without a decon episode!

Malcolm, Trip reflected glumly as he followed the younger officer into the familiar blue-lit box, liked Decon. Never mind that it meant being practically naked with a bunch of other folks, something he’d expected to freak the introverted Brit out way back when. Never mind it meant inactivity, which (probably due to being forced to sit still and keep his hands to himself as a kid, in Professor Tucker’s private psychological assessment) he hated. He practically skipped through the outer door at Phlox’s clucked command, already yanking at his jumpsuit’s zipper. If he noticed the uncharacteristic hesitancy of his fellow prisoner, he didn’t comment.

“Next time T’Pol decides she has to get her hands on any _intriguing mineral compounds_ , tell her to fetch ‘em herself,” the Englishman instructed loudly, tossing his abandoned coverall into the waiting tub and yanking off his black shirt with the kind of enthusiasm he usually reserved for their wilder intimate moments. Moving more slowly, Trip cursed his wayward mind as his cock leapt to the unwelcome analogy. “I’ve got muck under my fingernails.”

“Lemme see.” Like a small boy Reed held out his hands, palms down, and the Southerner grinned at the sight of a few black flecks marring the neatly-trimmed nails. “Malcolm, I’m covered in the stuff, an’ you’re complainin’ about _that_?”

“Well if you _will_ burrow about in the muddiest puddles like a Labrador that’s lost his bone instead of taking the time to scan for the most accessible deposits…”

Caught in the act of peeling off his mud-encrusted tank (and how he’d got a layer of the planet’s crust that far down, Malcolm didn’t want to contemplate) Trip turned around to glare at his associate.

 _Big mistake_ , he conceded as the weight he carried in his shorts doubled.

Eyes sparkling, an unreserved grin splitting his dusty face and naked save for his snug boxer briefs, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was, in Tucker’s admittedly biased opinion, sex personified. That he was totally oblivious of the fact only made it more ridiculously obvious to the superior officer gawking across Phlox’s torture chamber at him.

Okay, Trip acknowledged, so nobody else considered the ritual deep-clean process especially tortuous. Except maybe Emily Mulroney, who had emerged after her last session with the object of her not-so-secret lusts in such a state of bedazzlement she hadn’t opened her mouth for two full days.

Which had to have been a relief to the rest of the science team, since it meant them getting through several meals without hearing a thing about Travis Mayweather’s exact and impressive anatomical specifications.

“Um, you got the gel?” Briefly he wondered whether a full-body blush would turn him purple under the chamber’s steely blue lights. “Thanks.”

With a curt nod Reed turned to rest on hand against the wall while the other smeared glistening (and cold, Trip remembered, fascinated by the rise of gooseflesh along the treated limb) decon gel from thigh to shin and back. He stared, admiring the long, smooth strokes of a confident hand down the muscular leg, envying the control of the man while admitting he couldn’t match it. _Best legs on the ship, my Mal. Best butt, too._

Tiredly he dug into his own pot of lotion, the muscles across his chest tightening in reaction to the slap of chilly cream. His lips moved silently as he catalogued every British swear word he had learned in five years’ service beside one of that nation’s most inventive cursers. Reconstructing the EPS grid or maintaining the warp coils in his head had, after all, stopped working as distractions a long time ago.

Caught up in not watching his boyfriend’s sleek near-naked body he completely failed to realise the effect his equally well-displayed form was having on the younger man, right until the moment Malcolm dropped his gel and was forced to turn around, emitting one of those raucous exclamations only a true scion of the British military establishment could concoct. “Oh, fuck it up the arse with a broken broom handle! _Sodding_ thing!”

“Hey, no harm done.” Amiably offering his tub, Trip scooped a slimy handful of unguent into his palm and slapped it onto his belly, secretly hoping for some cooling relief below the waistband. “Malcolm? You want me to pick up your eyeballs an’ hand ’em back?”

“Sorry?”

The question went up an octave in time with the jerk of… _something_ inside his briefs. Trip’s mouth twitched as he regarded the heaving chest, glossy with Phlox’s magic formula; the dilated pupils eclipsing silvery irises; the parted lips slightly swollen by the application of numerous small bites. “No offence taken, Lieutenant,” he said, deliberately mild. “Been enjoyin’ the view?”

For a man so skilled in deception’s dark arts, Malcolm Reed was an open book in love. “Christ yes!” he breathed, absent-mindedly ghosting one slippery finger over a nipple that rose and darkened instantaneously. His gaze dropped down to the prominent tent in his lover’s underwear and a sweet, shy smile touched his mouth. “You?”

“Those damn skivvies are doin’ their best to spoil it, but…” The hairs at the back of his neck began to rise. Decon. Azure light. Mal whispering in the midst of passion, something about how wonderfully unfair it was the way every _bloody_ shade of blue suited him. _Phlox doesn’t play with the air pressures in here, does he?_

He dipped an index finger into his palm and dragged a snail’s track of gel across the thickest patch of his chest hair, every pulse point in his body coming alive at the rapt way Malcolm followed the move. “Want me to get your back?” he rasped, emboldened by the other man’s total stillness. Not long ago, he knew, Malcolm would have been scuttling as far across the room as he could get, stammering out denials and subject changes while blushing to the roots of his hair.

Now only his eyelids moved in a rapid succession of blinks. “What if Phlox…”

_Oh, yeah. He wants this._

With a casualness he was a light year from feeling, the engineer glanced at his bare wrist. “Oops. No watch. But I’m pretty sure it must be feedin’ time for his slugs. Or somethin’.”

One dark brow made a lazy ascent. “Really? You’re not just saying that to get into my knickers?”

“Darlin’ ah’m hurt.” Dramatically flinging a hand against his heart, he moved in under the cover of his man’s startled laughter, a tactical move Reed couldn’t have plotted better that left him trapped between cold metal wall and warm, gel-slicked Tucker. “Let’s git rid ‘f the damn things so y’ don’t hafta worry ‘bout mah motives any more, okay?”

The hiss of Malcolm’s exhale tickled his neck, but despite the smouldering fire in his lover’s eyes the dutiful officer in Lieutenant Reed fought to make one last frantic appearance. “We mustn’t – it’s not proper…”

“An’ that’s the fun of it.” That tempting mouth was opened to argue. Trip stopped it the most effective way at his disposal - by kissing the living daylights out of it.

Malcolm’s desperate “Oh, God!” rippled against the back of his throat. Then he was being kissed back with his Armoury Officer’s unique brand of single-minded intensity that fired direct from his pressurised lips to the base of his constrained cock. The pants had to go.

Before the thought was formed, he was free. “Huh?”

Strong fingers flexed, squeezing his cheeks. “Only fair, Commander,” Malcolm cooed, drawing the title out to perilous lengths. His hips bucked, grinding his still-clothed erection into the naked man, one arm coming up to loop around the engineer’s taut waist. “Making me want – so bloody much!”

Halfway across the chamber they separated the armoury officer from his underwear, his bare buttocks connecting with the starboard bench a moment later, Trip tumbling down to cover his excited state from any prying eye. Panting, the taller man slithered down until they were aligned at all the crucial junctures. “So sexy, Malcolm,” he murmured against the Brit’s parted lips. “Feels so good.”

“Mmm, yes.” One sleepy eye focussed on the small viewing hatch opposite, but if Phlox appeared wearing an old-fashioned ringmaster’s coat with a pocketful of tickets for sale Malcolm wouldn’t have cared. The sense of liberation, added to his lover’s skilful stimulation, made him giddy and he pressed himself more firmly toward Trip’s welcome weight. “I want...”

“Likewise.” Hips rocking in counterpoint to his partner’s Trip wound one arm around the covered man, fingers sliding up over his neck and deep into glossy dark hair to hold him steady for another kiss. Ice blue light made the skin of gel that covered both men shine as sweat reversed its natural drying process and a third, slightly musky fluid began to slick their grinding groins. Malcolm’s hand worked its way into the confined space, the brush of a callus against his boyfriend’s base enough to trigger a guttural cry.

Somehow they slithered off the bench and onto the bare floor, their matched grunts echoing as they rolled until Malcolm was trapped, his compact body completely covered by his lover and allowing him to glory in the sense of security it gave him to be shielded tip to toe. His tongue thrust hard into the welcoming cavern of his partner’s mouth, lips beginning to tingle and swell under the pressure of their prolonged kiss. He more felt than heard the whimper that worked its way up from his contracted gut.

“Yeah darlin’.” Trip’s voice rebounded off the metallic walls of their haven, his bigger body wracked as the eruption began deep inside and his balls began to burn, the friction between them too perfectly painful to bear. He was vaguely aware of Malcolm, suddenly rigid beneath him, a raw cry torn from his throat as he came. Then there was nothing but warmth and light and the ball-bursting, brain-splitting bliss of release.

He came round to the feeling of clever fingers idly rubbing his belly. Creaking open one eye he discovered Malcolm already alert, propped on one elbow and smiling fondly as he mixed semen and decon gel into a thick slime across his lover’s flat stomach. “We’ll need a shower,” the Englishman remarked, swooping down for a fleeting kiss.

“Damn, do we hafta?” Malcolm had settled into a pattern of circular caresses and it felt so good Trip found himself reciprocating for the pure pleasure of watching his man shiver. “This light suits you too, by the way. ‘Specially when you’re glistenin’.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” He could almost see that snippet being tucked away in a corner of the Englishman’s mind for future use. “How interesting.”

“You’re always interestin’ to me, Mal.” A small tug was enough to bring the younger man down onto his chest, head pillowing cosily against Trip’s shoulder. Loosely linking one arm around his midriff Trip continued to massage all the excess moisture he could find into Malcolm’s torso, relishing the little wriggles and half-purrs of enjoyment the sensation stirred before flagrantly risking them all with a question even his freewheeling spirit accepted might be a tad indiscreet. “’Specially now I’m figurin’ you’ve had the old Decon fantasy too.”

Predicting Malcolm’s reaction to assorted prods and pokes had been a fascinating game to Trip Tucker long before he’d added certain physical stimuli to the list. He never tired of being proven wrong.

Instead of a slap, he got a big, toothy grin. “God, yes! You turning around as I rub gel into your back, pants ‘round your ankles and that smile on your face, suggesting I might cover a few other bits while I’m about it... the two of us rolling around getting the stuff everywhere… and as for the one about the Captain turning his back to “do” T’Pol and you _“doing”_ me up against the wall, so to speak, while he’s not looking…”

“Um, Malcolm? If you see my eyeball rollin’ by, you mind pokin’ it back into place for me?” His voice rasped alarmingly. Trip was amazed to hear it creak out of his tightened throat at all. “Never knew you were such an exhibitionist! Doin’ it against the wall with our superior officers right there? Down, boy!”

The chamber resounded with Malcolm Reed’s rare, evil cackle. “Oh, and that’s a strategically placed pot of gel pressing into my back, is it? Bugger, here comes Phlox!”

“How d’you hear that?” Scrabbling across the floor for his blues Trip didn’t question the warning, because while T’Pol boasted about her better-than-mere-human hearing (she’d call it stating a fact, he admitted reluctantly) Malcolm simply used his non-pointed ears to the same effect. A moment later he could make out the sprightly skip of Denobulan boots in the corridor for himself.

The two men slumped shoulder-to-shoulder on the low bench with seconds to spare before the viewing hatch scraped over, to be filled by an ominously familiar giant grin.

“Your captivity in decon is over, gentlemen.” Over the comm. in a confined space Phlox’s ripe tones took on an otherworldly solemnity at odds with the ten-foot-wide smile. “Although I’m sure it wasn’t an unpleasant experience! I would recommend a shower, however – probably separate ones. Semen and decon gel create a uniquely pungent perfume when mixed.”

Yes, Trip discovered, gawping in wide-eyed horror at his stricken boyfriend. Blushing in Decon really did turn a guy purple after all.


End file.
